The King’s Final Bargain

King Armand knelt in the ashes of the plaza, cradling Yvette’s lifeless body in his arms. Her face, serene even in death, was a cruel reminder of what he had done. The shadows that had once surged with his anger and power now trembled weakly around him, fading like the last flickers of a dying flame.

“Yvette,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry... I didn’t mean—”

His words faltered as a figure emerged from the darkness. Plaga, her tattered black dress flowing like smoke, stepped forward with a calm, deliberate grace. Her hollow eyes fixed on Armand, and her lips curled into a faint smile.

“You are a pitiful sight, King Armand,” she said, her voice smooth and mocking. “The great ruler, brought to his knees by his own hand. How fitting.”

Armand glared up at her, his dark eyes glinting with defiance. “You did this,” he growled. “You twisted this city, turned its people against me.”